


Hey MERCarena (Hey Macarena)

by DagReaper (TyJaxReaper)



Category: Deadpool (2016), Supernatural
Genre: Dean Has Issues, Drinking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt Dean, M/M, Mild Language, Pre-Deadpool (2016), Sad Dean, Wade Comforts, Wade Has Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-20 01:47:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5987935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyJaxReaper/pseuds/DagReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"You got a few screws loose, man," he muttered with a light smile, but without thinking, like his mouth moved faster than his brain. He eyed the man, seeing the smirk growing into a smile and Dean was a little confused, seeing him inch closer.</p><p>"Clearly, you have too, but something tells me that you don't really care about that. You're interested in something else," the way he said it was almost seductive. The way he said it slowly, calmly, deeply and the way his hand moved to his chin and hooked a finger under with the thumb pressing gently to his bottom lip. </p><p>"You got me," he meant it in a few ways, hoping the Merc got what he was throwing out there, what he was implying. The hunter felt a hand on his knee, the fingers firm and smooth as they inched up his leg. The finger on his chin ghostingly ran down his neck, passing his adamsapple and stopping in the little dip where his collarbones met.</p><p>"I knew I had you the moment you walked into this shabby bar," the guy clearly ignored the defensive and insulted 'hey' from the bar-keep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hey MERCarena (Hey Macarena)

**Author's Note:**

> I watched the movie and completely adored it so much!!! Fuck! It was great xD Easily became my #1 out of everything. I don't actually know how this happened, but I'm definitely not disappointed xD

Dean quickly downed his eighth whiskey in a matter of seconds and gestured to the guy behind the bar for more, seeing him nod warily before pouring another and bringing it over. The hunter/demon just eyed it for a few seconds after it was placed in front of him and tossed it back like it was simple water. He put it down on the table and eyed the glass.

"Nine whiskies, three beers and a vodka-straight... either you want to die of an alcohol overdose or you're trying to forget something," the bar-keep pried and Dean only scoffed, gesturing for another whisky, which the guy seemed hesitant about. "You don't even seem that drunk after all of this," he added quietly and gently put it down, the hunter tossing it back again. Yeah, the drinking thing was actually... pretty shitty. It was like the mark enhanced his metabolism and now he couldn't really get drunk. Well, that was a lie, he could get drunk, but he'd have to drink the place dry to even feel something. It'd happened twice, maybe three times since he had the damn mark.

"High tolerance," he muttered roughly, his voice deep and gravelly before he flagged down another. Again, a glass came at him, but this time he just stared at it, eyeing it almost thoughtlessly.

" _High tolerance_...," the guy whispered to himself almost disbelievingly and rested his hands on the counter. "Your level of tolerance should be impossible. I know a guy in here that could drink for hours, but he would be drunk by now if he had the same amount as you and you don't seem at all effected by all these drinks I've tossed your way,"

"Are you just stating facts or is there a point to all this?" he asked irkedly, his eyes snapping up to the man that was still staring at him. Dean watched him back way more intensely, seeing the waver in his features at the hunters' strong and dark look.

"My _point_ is that you can't be human. There's no way you can down all these drinks like some British person that has a tea-fetish," well that was one way to say it, he guessed. "There's a story to you, and I'd like to hear it,"

"My _story_ isn't child-friendly. It's something you'd see in an R rated horror movie," Dean nearly jumped when a chair next to him was pulled out and someone sat down, half facing him and half facing the bar.

"Oh I need to hear this," the hunter practically glared at him, and he scowled when the guy grabbed his drink and tossed it back as easily as he did with the rest of them. "Start talking," the guy grinned at him. He had to admit that he was strikingly and ruggedly hot, someone Dean would definitely like to fuck around with in bed. Hell, he'd even let him have control and fuck his shitty night away.

"How 'bout no," he replied flatly, ignoring the handsome and intruding stranger that was sitting in his space. It was like he moved the chair closer when he sat next to him. He flagged down another whisky, but was stopped. The guy pointing 'two' fingers up. He was getting this round. Once the drinks where put in front of them, Dean went to drink it, tossing it back when-

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine-," he started coughing, having taken the whisky down the wrong way when he said that sentence. His throat suddenly felt like shit and the guy had his hand on his back, patting none too softly to get him to bring up air and breathe.

 

"Jesus Christ, couldn't have phrased that any better?" he croaked roughly and sarcastically. He tapped his fist against his chest and cleared his throat, feeling the strong hand still on his upper back.

"I could have, but I was hoping for a reaction like that," he smirked charmingly at him and Dean just stared... _gazed_.

"So, about that story?" the bar-keep asked, the hunter surprisingly forgetting that he was even there and with another drink ready for him. He let out a rough huff and took it, holding it in his hands and gently shoving it back and forth between his palms.

"Fine... fine, whatever," he gave in, sighing a little. He'd need to find a way to rephrase a lot of the story so they'd understand, and not think he was some creepy cult psycho. He probably wouldn't have to change much because everyone here were Mercenaries. He'd just change the supernatural part of it. "Me and my brother are sort of like you guys, but we don't get paid or anything-,"

"That sucks," the guy interrupted and Dean just continued, like it never actually happened.

"We had to take down this pretty strong target, but to do that... one of us had to take something, like a drug. I was the one that took it and after a while, I managed to kill the bitch, but turns out the drug is permanent. I get violent, destructive, I lose it. I can't control it once I'm like that. People die, and sometimes, they're innocent," he could feel his heartbeat speeding up a little at the thought of the people he'd killed, the innocent lives he'd hurt and he wasn't just thinking about the ones while he was a demon. No, the ones from when he was in hell were there too. The last ten years in that forty he spent killing and torturing innocent souls that didn't deserve it. "I've killed a lot of people-," he was interrupted again, but this time by lips. The guy next to him actually turned his face towards him and pressed their mouths together and _damn_! did it feel awesome. His were hot, moist and very drawing, but that didn't last long, it was like a little kiddy peck on the lips or something.

"Everyone here's killed people, most of us killed innocents. I'm not gonna lie and say we don't like it. Because we're in the business, we do like it. The only difference between you and us is the fact that you feel grief from what you did, you regret it and feel like shit afterwords, to the point you end up in creepy bars getting shit-faced. When I get a target, I don't bother checking to see if they were innocent or not, I just track them down and 'it's off with their head'. Hell, I come back here and dance the Macarena," Dean had to let out a chuckle at the last few sentences, this guy was clearly nuts, but it was the good kind of 'nuts', and no, not the physical kind, though he definitely wouldn't mind touching the strangers'. He had his attention like a moth to a flame. And the hand was still on his face, holding him there and making sure he didn't look away.

"He actually does," he heard the bar-keep say from a few feet away, having listened and done his job at the same time.

"You got a few screws loose, man," he muttered with a light smile, but without thinking, like his mouth moved faster than his brain.

He immediately bit at his lip when he registered what he said, not knowing if it was okay to say it to him, but he hid his concern and flustering easily, composure being one of his skills. He eyed the man, seeing the smirk growing into a smile and Dean was a little confused, seeing him inch closer.

"Clearly, you have too, but something tells me that you don't really care about that. You're interested in something else," the way he said it was almost seductive. The way he said it slowly, calmly, deeply and the way his hand moved to his chin and hooked a finger under with the thumb pressing gently to his bottom lip. He could feel the stool he was sitting on turn, both of them now facing each other with their drinks forgotten. It was also clear that the guy knew what Dean wanted, even when _he_ didn't really know himself. It was like he saw something _he_ didn't, felt something he had no idea of. Obviously he realized it already, the want and need to fuck or get fucked. _He wanted this man._

 

"You got me," he meant it in a few ways, hoping the Merc got what he was throwing out there, what he was implying. They were so open and clear, he'd be surprised if he didn't. Though, by the scoff the stranger let out, he knew. The hunter felt a hand on his knee, the fingers firm and smooth as they inched up his leg. The finger on his chin ghostingly ran down his neck, passing his adamsapple and stopping in the little dip where his collarbones met.

"I knew I had you the moment you walked into this shabby bar," the guy clearly ignored the defensive and insulted 'hey' from the bar-keep. He was pretty sure these two were friends or something.

"Speaking of..." he trailed off quietly, his breathes having turned into light pants. "... how about we leave and go back to my motel room?" he asked boldly, feeling the hand on his thigh grip tight just a few inches lower of where he really wanted it to grab and stroke. The one on his neck was running back up the length of it, the digit warm against his skin as it reached his chin against and he unintentionally moved with it, tilting his head back a little.

"I'd really like that, though I don't think I'll last the whole walk there," he knew what he meant, he really did.

"We'll stop off in an alley or something," he muttered roughly. Also, he knew how the guy knew which motel he was in. Seriously, in this whole damn city, he only found one good motel to stay at that was affordable to the Mercenaries and people like Dean, you know, hunters'.

"Oh naughty," the guy purred. "Gonna give me the honour of knowing my little hunters' name?"

"... It's Dean-," Whoa!! He knew he was a hunter?! "Wait, how'd you-," he was cut off by another kiss, feeling the hot lips slip against his wetly, lapping at his mouth over and over and Dean just... well, he just let it happen, deciding to join in after a few stunned seconds. He gasped silently when he felt the hot tongue slip between his lips, pressing up against his and wrapping around it. He couldn't help the way he wanted to press in and groan. And groan he did, very quietly and very wantonly into the Mercs' mouth.

"Let's go, now... c'mon. I'm Wade btw's, you know... by.the.way,"

"I get it," he panted lightly and pushed up from the chair. He swore he heard a quick 'my-tab' from the guy to the bar-keep for all the drinks. It'd be funny to see his face once he realized just how much Dean had drank, but that could wait until they went back there. This was definitely going to happen again, it really needed to.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the awesome, I did xD if you've watched the movie too, I'd love to fanboy with you!!!


End file.
